


A Scandal In Paradise

by bcwritingale



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcwritingale/pseuds/bcwritingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She slipped up. She knows she did. This was a con to her job. This kind of thing has happened before and she took care of it. But now she's too old and too tired and doesn't want to "fix it" again. Not like the last time. Irene Adler let out a deep breath as she stared at the pregnancy test in her hand revealing a faded positive sign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Irene's Big Secret

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, and I hope you like it! The length of chapters will vary, depending on how much is needed to be revealed at the time. So yeah I think that's it go ahead and read, and don't foret to comment! (They're always appreciated)

She slipped up. She knows she did. This was a con to her job. This kind of thing has happened before and she took care of it. But now she's too old and too tired and doesn't want to "fix it" again. Not like the last time.

Irene Adler let out a deep breath as she stared at the pregnancy test in her hand revealing a faded positive sign.

* * *

She remembered her first pregnancy. She was scared, didn't know what was going on, and only twelve years old. Her father had taken advantage of her before, but when she told him that she was starting to bleed, he went further into the abuse.  
He told her to "take care of it" and "fix it"; as if she was broken and needed to be rewired to be useful to him again. But of course, she didn't know how. So she had the baby at thirteen and gave it away.

It was a baby girl. She was absolutely beautiful, just like her mother. She was very quiet and shy, but had many friends. Irene had never given her much thought until she almost reached thirty. Through some searching and digging she finally found her and saw that she dropped out of high school and lived place-to-place. Irene took the girl in, not expecting her daughter to fall in love with her.

Kate was - is - her name. She fell in love with Irene when she first saw her. 'So beautiful' she thought. 'So young.' Eventually she had the nerve to ask Ms. Adler for dinner one night. All Irene said was "I'm not hungry," and smiled. That was it.  
Now Irene had thoughts about being a mother to Kate more than a lover, but it would never work. The trauma her dad gave her scared her. She loved Kate, which was all that mattered, right? What else was there though?

The dirt. That's what stood in the way. Irene couldn't let Kate know about her being her mother or her customers to know she has a daughter. And that's what Irene tends to keep a secret. But, of course, the brilliant Sherlock Holmes sees it. Sees the way she looks at Kate like a lover and a mother.  _He knows,_  she thought as he smirked when he met Kate.  _He could use this to his advantage.  
No_ , she thought.  _He will_.

* * *

Irene tossed the fifth positive strip into the trash. "I will have this baby," she said aloud to no one but herself. "I will have this baby in secret. No one will know. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes would know," she scoffed. She looked around her ridiculously sized bathroom and sighed.  
"But I can't keep it, either. My reputation and job would go down the drain. But I also can't just let it go. I need to give it to someone I trust. Someone I know who will take great care of my child." She looked down at her stomach and a smile slowly crept on her face. "Hello little one," she whispered. "You're going to have so many adventures when you grow up. Your dad will take you to many places and teach you many things." She then grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down one word before stripping nude and getting into the shower.

One name.

_Sherlock_


	2. Little Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, here's my second chapter! Like I said before, chapter sizes may vary. So read on my Sherlockian!

Irene woke up the next morning feeling nausea poke at her throat and stomach - although she hadn't eaten in 12 hours - reminding her of the little person now inside her.  _Okay_ , she thought.  _it's going to be okay._  When she was done hovering over her trash can she cleaned up and went over to her phone. She scrolled down several numbers of current costumers until she found the one she was looking for.

_Hello, little brother. -TW_

**What do you want?**

_Oh what? A loving sister can't text her little brother to say hello? -TW_

**No.**

_Fine. Coffee? -TW_

**Oh, public places now? What ever happened to 'meeting in secret'?**

_Just come, ok? -TW_

**Fine.**

* * *

Irene tapped her newly painted fingernails in anticipation for her brother to arrive. He was always late for her, yet on time for everything else. When she saw the familiar mess of hair she'd cut, tugged, and played with so many years ago come around the corner, her heart raced a little. She wasn't really sure how to say this to him. The first time she was pregnant he was only 8 years old and didn't really understand. All she told him was that she "ate a watermelon seed and now there's a watermelon growing inside of her". He didn't eat watermelon for weeks.

When he saw his big sister sitting so refined and proper, he almost forgot how much of a slut she was. He didn't really like the idea of her running around with random people for money and power, but he didn't pick her living; so he disowned her all through high school. Sure, they abused each other the majority of their lives (physically and verbally), but that didn't mean they didn't love each other. Their real enemy was their father.

"Hello again. It's been awhile," Irene smiled. Her brother took the seat across from her and said in a low voice, "Okay, now tell me. What's going on?" Irene looked around, distracting herself with the signs on the window and the low lamps that hung awfully low. He took her hand from across the table and repeated his question in a huskier voice, "What's going  _on_?" She stared at him for a moment, his hands squeezing way too hard to be reassuring. She looked hard at him and pulled away. "Seb-" she started, but quickly glanced back over to the waitress bringing them their coffee and interrupting her thoughts. Irene gave a smile to the lady and Seb nodded his head in gratitude.  _He's gotten better with his public skills_ , Irene noted.

Irene sipped at her cup in silence, trying to find the right words. Meanwhile, her little brother Moran stared at her coldly. "It's, uh..." She began to say. "It's about my job, Seb. I fear it might be the end of my career." He scoffed. "Career? What _ **career**_ _?_  Sleeping around with strangers for money and blackmail? That is not a career, honey. That is dirty work."

"Oh like you're so better!" She didn't mean to raise her voice. She got a couple of glances, and she was sure she heard someone murmur "bad break up" near the front. She lowered it once more and said, "Last time I checked, killing people for a mad genius wasn't really on the list of careers they gave us in school." He just shrugged and crossed his arms behind his head as if to show off how worry-free it can be to be him. This infuriated her. "You know what? Forget it." She stood up in one swift movement, grabbed her coat, and walked out the door with her nose high in the air.

* * *

Irene turned to the nearest empty alley way and began to weep. She felt a large hand grab her shoulder and she pushed it off immediately with her first line of defense displayed by her stance. Her bleary eyes began to clear and she saw that it was Moran, holding his hands up in surrender. She wiped away her smearing make up - or at least what she could manage to get off. Moran tilted his head and grinned a grin that - what others found eerie and terrifying - she found comfort in because it was a genuine smile.

"Seb," she sobbed, still trying to say what was on her mind. He went over to the respected, yet feared, Irene Adler and hugged her. "Shhh shh sh. I know, I know. You acted like this the last time a watermelon grew inside of you." She gave a short laugh as a single tear hugged the corner of her mouth making her taste the bitter saltiness of it all: the tear, the situation, life.

She pulled away and he brushed the tears off her face, pity in his eyes. "So," he all most whispered. "What's going to happen to it?" "So far, not any ideas. Well, none that I like," she looked at him, hope still hanging on. "Alright. Other question: Who's the father?" "I have no clue," she replied, her face straight as a board. "Figures," he mumbles. She brushes it off, because she knows he just wanted some gossip. "Well who have you been screwing with besides Kate these past couple of weeks?"

Irene went through her mobile schedule to see who she "had dinner" with recently. "There's a number of dukes." she said still staring at her phone. "Not that it matters. I'm not keeping it." "You sure?" he asked. She thought about the slip of paper she wrote Sherlock's name on and burned.  _How could I trust a man to take care of a child when he can barely remember to put on some pants before going to the Buckingham Palace? Even_ I  _would have worn a bit more than a sheet._

"Adoption centers are not an option, and you know how I feel about abortion," she said sternly looking up at her brother's puzzled face. "Yeah." was all he said. They stood there in the silence of the busy street for what seemed like hours. "Uh, I should get going. Kate said she'd cook tonight..." Irene excused herself. "Yeah I should get going, too. 'His Majesty' is expecting me to pick him up some coffee," Seb said before turning out of the alley and calling a cab. But that's not what was on their minds at all. They were thinking of the same solution.

The only solution.

_Sherlock._


	3. A Strange Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After many long years, Sherlock gets a text from Ms. Adler herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the chapter title being one of John's blog title entries but it fits so well!!! Anyways, if you've made it this far please read! Again, chapter lengths vary. This one is longer. Enjoy!

"Any new cases?" John appeared from the kitchen with a paper he tossed onto the lounge chair across from where Sherlock was lying on his back on the sofa. Sherlock gave a quick glance over towards where John sloppily put the paper, sighed, and looked back up at the ceiling. "I'll take that as a no," John said, turning back to get his tea out of the kitchen. "Guess I could start writing up some old cases we did that weren't so 'news-breaking' to everyone." John continued to blabber on to himself as Sherlock pretended not to listen. He didn't really care, he just needed something to focus on - and John's voice seemed to be the only thing disturbing the still and quiet of the flat.

"John," Sherlock said among John's blabbering. He almost dropped his cup in surprise at the sudden sound of Sherlock's voice. "Can you get my phone?" John stared at him and rolled his eyes. It was only a couple of feet away on the floor, but Sherlock was too comfortable and knew John wouldn't get it with (so much) irritation. John sighed, picked up the phone, and handed to Sherlock. Sherlock glared at John's face. Every wrinkle said he was irritated but his eyes showed that he didn't mind - and that's what made him different. Sherlock quickly glanced through his messages.

**_No new messages._ **

_"Odd,"_  he thought.  _"I thought surely Lestrade would have called me for that missing persons case. Must be on vacation with his new lover, seeing as his wife has been away on business to Cardiff for the past month and he plans on making a trip for two to Russia. Although, Mycroft hasn't bothered me either. By now he would be annoying me about how blind I've become with John around. It's all quite suspicious but one mustn't assume without physical evidence. Dear lord I'm starting to sound like Mycroft."_  Sherlock focused again on the ceiling above. "Any word from Lestrade?" John looked up from his computer and glanced at his phone. "No, but Mycroft sent me a text - or, erm, Anthea did. Said he'd be in Russia for a few days so you can stop assuming. Said you'd know what he means." Sherlock smirked for a split second but remembered that his brother was (or worse - has been) dating the Head DI of Scotland Yard. Sherlock tried to push the thought out of his mind when his phone gave a disturbing noise. John's eyes went wide. Sherlock slowly raised his illuminated phone screen to his face.

_22:09 pm_ _  
Hello lover -TW_

_22:37 pm_ _  
Oh not messaging back? Ok, I'll get to the point. -TW_

_I need to arrange a meeting with you. Let's have dinner, say 6 o'clock tomorrow? Meet me at Kettner's. I'll have Kate make a reservation. In the meantime I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Holmes. -TW_

Sherlock got up from his resting spot and walked over to John, handing him the phone. John had only asked once, but Sherlock could practically hear the obvious question buzzing around in John's brain. John looked over his Shoulder to where Sherlock had shuffled over to. He was staring at John, awaiting an answer or question to come out of his constantly changing face. "Are you going?" he finally managed to say. Sherlock walked back over and lingered over John, staring at the phone in much thought. "Not sure," he said.

* * *

The next morning, John had told Sherlock he was going out to run some errands and wouldn't be back until late. Sherlock knew it was an excuse for him to get out of the house so Sherlock could "get ready for his meeting". Sherlock didn't really respond. He just laid on his bed, moaned, and - before he knew it - John was out the door. He rolled over, tired from sleeping after the past few days of keeping awake. He let out an irritated sigh and groped the air, reaching for the edge of the bed trying to pull himself up, and eventually sat up after much failed attempt and slumped out of bed. He didn't really want to leave the flat that particular morning, but was too curious to ignore Irene's invitation. He washed his curls, dried off, and opened his wardrobe. "Absolutely nothing to wear," he said aloud.

There was literally nothing in his closet, except for one pair of black pants and shoes. "John must be doing the laundry today then." Sherlock put them on and then headed up the stairs to John's room. His bed was nicely made like an army bunk and his clothes were neatly folded and put away in his wardrobe. Sherlock shuffled through all of the jumpers until he found some button-up shirts that John would wear on his "dates". Sherlock believed John found women to go out with because they were like distractions from all of the death and cases and tension between himself and John. Sherlock eventually found himself a black shirt that John had only worn once to a funeral for one of the many cases they had solved together. He had made Sherlock go, naturally. He had loathed being there; surrounded by all of the emotional and sobbing members of the family and friends of whom thanked him for finding the killer.

He pulled the wrinkle-free shirt over his mess of curls and covered his pale figure once again. He straightened it out in the full-body mirror and tucked it in. He looked at the clock on his phone.

**_11:42_ ** **am**

He huffed and knew there weren't any cases to solve at the moment and went downstairs to work on his own experiments instead until 5. He was just about to discover the odd material on a strand of hair he had gotten on his shirt that was obviously not his to see where exactly it has been when his mobile began to ring. "John hand me my phone, would you?" he reached out a hand for John to place the mobile in his palm when he realized John still hadn't been back yet. He gave out an irritated sigh and picked up the phone that was only a few mere inches away. "You know, I really do prefer to text," he answered.

"Sherlock? Where are you?"

"At the flat, where else would I be?"

"Oh, I don't know. In a cab, maybe. Heading to Kettner's for that special 'meeting' with Irene Adler."

Sherlock looked at the digital clock on the stove-oven.

**_17:24_ ** **_pm_ **

"Oh, that," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock! Out of all the people I thought you would be the most curious to see why she has suddenly texted you after all these years. Let alone  _meet_  her in  _public._ "

"Honestly, John, it sounds like you're far more interested in what she has to say more than I do."

"No it's not- Sherlock will you please just go?"

"Alright alright. Anything for my blogger."

John rolled his eyes and said, "I've already gone ahead and called you a cab. Should arrive for you any minute now."

A black car with a light on top pulled into the parking area of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock looked out the window and smirked a little; kind of glad he had someone like John Watson to look after him. "Yes, it just pulled in." Sherlock grabbed his scarf and grey coat. "Good," John said, looking around the street. "Don't get into any trouble while you're there." Sherlock's smile formed itself into a straight line once again, his voice far more serious. "No promises." Sherlock swung open the door of 221B and glided over to the cab, gracefully pulled open the door and climbed in.

* * *

The men at the front of the door took his scarf and coat as he observed the little traces of dog hair in the finely groomed manager's hair.  _Balding and too cheap to buy an expensive toupee._ "Ms. Adler is expecting you," he smiled. Sherlock looked him up and down, seeing his posture soon to break from nervous tension building inside of him. He led Sherlock to a table in the corner by a window. "Thank you Miguel, I think that will be all from you." The toupee-wearing man gave a nod of gratitude and quickly left. Irene eyed the tall drink of ice water and said with a pleasant, but not reassuring, voice "Sherlock, please have a seat."

"Why am I here?"

"Because I asked you."

"But why did you ask me?"

"If we're going to play Q&A you might as well sit down. I've got all night."

Sherlock studied the chair and saw all who had sat on it before, or at least what the person was like. A waiter came over in a hurry and pulled out the vacant chair as Irene gestured her hand toward it. Sherlock never left her gaze as he sat down. "Now tell me," he said. "Why am I here? You obviously have better things to do than have dinner with me - such as be with your girlfriend. So tell me exactly why you pulled me away from my research and precious time to sit here with you at Kettner's with waiters that you obviously have something over just to get a reservation so quickly." Her face didn't change except for a slight smile. "The real question, Mr. Holmes," she purred. "Is why did you come if your time is so 'precious'? You've obviously nothing to do except do pointless labelling and drooling over your boyfriend who swears he's not gay, but that doesn't mean you'd come to me. No. You're interested again, aren't you? Well that's no good. I do like to tease Mr. Holmes, surely you know that."

A waiter came over and asked for their drinks, the tremble in his voice betraying his confident swagger. Irene flicked her wrist and he was gone faster than light. Sherlock never once looked away from her face, trying to deduce why she had brought him there. For the second time, he could not see through her veil. "Oh stop it, will you?" Her voice came out of nowhere, breaking Sherlock's concentration. It sounded - almost - annoyed _._  He sat back in his chair, a puzzled expression drawn over his face. He knew that she knew what he was doing, but didn't want her to really notice. "You're never going to get it so I might as well just tell you," she said shooting daggers his way. "An...obstacle has come into my path and I can't quite get rid of it so easily. I'm going to go into hiding for about a year. When I come out, I will need you to 'take care of it', or however you would like to put it. I'm entrusting you with this, Mr. Holmes. You cannot tell anyone until it's time; not even your little boyfriend with a blog. Can you do this? Are you trust worthy?" Sherlock stared her down with ice in his eyes, but something warm poked at his soul. "And what is this 'obstacle', may I ask?" Irene smirked. "Always wanting to know more than you have access to, huh?" Sherlock didn't say anything. He stared her down until the drinks finally came.

The two gingerales were placed in front of them as Irene looked up and frowned. Sherlock turned to see who it was but only in time to catch a glimpse of the back of a head walking into the kitchen. "If you'll excuse me," Irene said as she wadded up her napkin and tossed it on the table with much attitude. "I think I'll have a word with the chef." As soon as Irene had left, Sherlock pulled out his phone which had been buzzing non-stop. He scanned through the missed calls and saw that DI Lestrade had called multiple times and left a few voice messages.

 _Three new messages at - 6;23 pm_ _  
_"Detective Lestrade. A dead body has been found outside of Hampton. Call as soon as you get this."  
 _End of messge_

 _Next message at - 6: 36 pm_ _  
_"Lestrade again. John told me you're on a date which I find highly unlikely but just call me whenever you're done."  
 _End of message_

 _Next message at - 6:42_ _pm  
_ "Look, Sherlock, we really need you here. We've got Anderson and Donovan but for some reason they're having a go at it with eachother and nothing is getting investigated. Just hurry up and get here, woud you? If she's stayed with you for this long then she'd understand why you have to go. *loud noise* Just hurry, would ya! Sally-"  
 _End of message_

_There are no more messages_

Sherlock slid his phone back into his pocket and asked for a pen from a nearby waiter. When Irene came back, Sherlock's chair was vacant once more and there was a napkin with scribbles on it where his drink had stayed untouched. It read:

_You can trust me, but I do not trust you._

_-Sherlock_


End file.
